In Black Dog, Guan Hu paints a patient portrait of a society and populace in flux, struggling to keep up with the expanding Chinese economy. Via a blossoming relationship between a man and a dog, Guan manages to create something that is both sweeping and intimate.
★★★★✰
The opening shot of Black Dog sets up what is to come perfectly: via a wide shot of the Gobi Desert, we witness a bus flipping over due to a sudden stampede of stray dogs streaking across the landscape. This fascinating combination of slow cinema, naturalism, and surrealism continues throughout the remainder of Black Dog, as does the sumptuous camerawork of slow pans that capture the haunting but gorgeous vistas of the Gobi Desert and a nearby town. Part buddy drama, part contemporary social film, part crime thriller, Black Dog is difficult to define, an elusive, curious, and wholly evocative work from director Guan Hu.
Set in a small town in the Gobi Desert, Black Dog takes place in the weeks leading up to the 2008 Summer Olympics in Beijing. The screenplay, co-written by Guan, Ge Rui, and Wu Bing, follows Lang (an impressive Eddie Peng) upon his release from prison. The past hangs over Lang, both his conviction for manslaughter and his former celebrity status as a stunt motorcyclist and musician inescapable as he returns to his hometown.
Guan contextualises Black Dog’s story subtly and carefully; information is drip fed to us slowly, inviting us into this compelling world. Many parts of the remote town have been or will soon be demolished by the Chinese government, as they bid to modernise the country. Residents who haven’t left for better opportunities are given little hope for the future of their home, in the same way as the animals in the near-abandoned zoo on the town’s outskirts.
For example, we learn about the Beijing Olympics—what was billed as an epic, celebratory extravaganza—through rusted promotional signs, the excitement for the event at odds with the sense of decay that hangs over the town. Guan’s handling of political themes such as these are compelling and organic. Whilst at first such themes seem obvious, and the film follows a predictable pattern, things eventually morph into something very unexpected, if a little scattered. Guan’s occasional struggles at juggling the story—Lang’s past, his blooming friendship with a black dog, a romance with a circus performer called Grape—and its themes—China’s economy and politics—are ultimately outweighed by his alluring and surprising navigation of them via magical realism.
Perhaps the best part of Black Dog is its central relationship: not between Lang and Grape, which is undercooked, but between Lang and a local dog. Large packs of strays roam the decrepit town, and one such black dog has a bounty placed upon its head due to its frequent biting of people. Enticed by the monetary reward, Lang captures the dog, but eventually forms a heartwarming, special friendship with it. Black Dog is incredibly moving in this particular aspect, and as Lang, Peng gives a largely non-verbal performance of stunning gravitas and emotional weight. His stoicism and vulnerability are admirably matched by the canine performer.
Black Dog is so successful because it takes what could be a rote story and elevates it into something startling and memorable. The ghost town, which pales against the wonder of the Olympics, seems drained of life, but humanity, kindness, and connection still flicker through. Guan, whose previous historical war drama The Eight Hundred (2020), takes big swings with his latest release. All of them are pulled off excellently, and the result is not just refreshing, but thoroughly moving too.
The Verdict
Through its patient pacing, evocative cinematography, and surprising tangents, Black Dog is a quietly triumphant film by Guan Hu. Although some of its symbolism might be obvious, Black Dog is an undeniably moving journey through a forgotten town on the outskirts of the Gobi Desert.
Words by William Stottor
Black Dog is in cinemas from 30th August
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